The Queen’s relief was intense. As soon as she was alone with Albert she clung to him and asked forgiveness for her ill temper. At this sign of contrition Albert was as always ready to be kind and tolerant.
‘You found it trying,’ he said, ‘because it is only two weeks since the baby’s birth.’
‘I don’t mind anything, Albert,’ she cried, ‘as long as you and I are together.’
On the 8th of April they left for Osborne. What peace to be back in the dear house and lie in the drawing-room looking out towards the sea. Yet she was fearful of what was happening in London and she pictured them all flying from England in the royal yacht. To where? If all Europe was in a revolutionary ferment where could they go?
She almost wished that she were back in London. Perhaps to run away from a crisis was not the best way of handling it. She began to feel rather ashamed. It was of course due to the fact that she had had a child. She always felt depressed afterwards – not herself. It was trifles that upset her. She believed that in a big crisis she could be calm.
As it was she could not settle to anything.
The terrible 10th dawned. She walked in the grounds with Albert, discussing the possibilities. ‘I ought to be there, Albert. I wish we had not run away.’
Albert pointed out that they were here on the advice of the Cabinet and they must take that advice. If the government and the police force were going to deal with a delicate situation it was as well not to complicate the matter by having the royal family to protect. So Albert soothed her and she declared that if they could only escape from state duties, and she could live quietly and comfortably with the best of husbands, she would be the happiest woman in the world.
Albert patted her hand and said that at least his dear love was back with him and that quick-tempered, rather unreasoning person who supplanted her usually at the beginning of pregnancies and immediately after childbirth had disappeared; he in his turn could be content with almost anything if only his dear love banished that other person for ever.
‘Oh, Albert, I will try,’ she promised. ‘Indeed I will.’
There was exciting news from London. The Chartist march had misfired. Only a fraction of those expected to march arrived at Kensington Common which was to have been the gathering point. When the Police Commissioner told the ringleaders that the march was illegal and must be disbanded, this edict was accepted. The leaders were taken in cabs to the House of Commons where they presented petitions in which they protested about conditions in the country. After that they quietly went away. It was all very orderly.
What relief!
There was a scare later on when the rumour reached Osborne that the Chartists were coming to the Island. Many of them had been seen landing at Cowes – rough, unkempt fellows with the blood lust in their eyes.
Albert set about marshalling the help of everyone on the estate. The farm workers gathered, brandishing their sickles and the builders their shovels, ready to protect the Queen and her family.
Victoria gathered the children together in the schoolroom and told them that she was not quite sure what was going to happen but they must be prepared for anything.
They were almost hysterical when the news came that the party of bloodthirsty revolutionaries were a club of young men who had come over to the Island for their day’s outing.
But that was an indication of the atmosphere during those spring and summer months of 1848. Revolution across the Channel and unrest throughout Europe had produced an atmosphere of tension which the Queen had never known before.
During that uneasy summer the Queen and Albert often discussed the state of the world. The Emperor of Austria had been forced to abdicate and throughout Germany there was a movement to abolish royalty; Italy was shaken by revolution. Uncle Leopold’s Belgium stood firm, as did the Russian Empire; and in England of course the ‘friends of the revolution’ could get no firm footing. Uncle Leopold was regarded with great respect by the Belgians, who realised what he had done for their country; the Russians under the great Tsar were powerless to revolt; and the English temperament was not suited to revolution and the people could only make half-hearted attempts at it which came to nothing. The general opinion appeared to be the Queen’s, that revolutions brought no good to anyone.
All the same if there was trouble, the Isle of Wight was easily accessible and therefore not a very safe refuge, and they had the children to think of.
‘Albert,’ said Victoria one day, ‘do you remember how much we enjoyed Scotland? I don’t think I ever saw a more beautiful place.’
‘I remember it well,’ replied Albert. ‘I was reminded of home.’
‘If we had a little home in Scotland rather like dear Osborne we could be sure of a little more privacy there. Let us take a trip there, Albert. Who knows, we might find a dear little house up there just as we have here.’
Inquiries were set in motion and it was decided to rent a little castle for six weeks. This belonged to the Duke of Fife and was called Balmoral.
As soon as they arrived both the Queen and Albert were impressed by the beauty of the countryside. Albert declared that it reminded him of home so much that he was sure he could be happy there. The Queen was delighted. Here she and the family could live the simple life. They could all go out together like any family party and they did. Albert was able to shoot the birds and stalk the deer just as he used to at home in Coburg; and the children could ride their ponies while the Queen sat and sketched. It was all very simple and pleasant; and the people of the neighbourhood were delightful, not treating them as royalty at all. In fact these good simple people would have no idea how to treat royalty.
It was all very refreshing.
‘We must come again to Balmoral,’ said the Queen.
Alone in Brocket Hall Lord Melbourne thought of the happenings of the year which would soon be over. Revolution in France and threatening all Europe – even England could be in danger. And the Queen – the sweet young Queen who had meant so much to him and had been so charmingly innocent – he hardly ever saw now.
She was not only a wife but a mother now – a mother of six – and it seemed only yesterday that that wide-eyed girl had stood before him so touching, so affectionate, so eager to learn.
They had been as close and as intimate as people can be who are not lovers – yet they were lovers. It is possible to love not physically but with heart and mind. He was her ideal; she was his creation, and he was now nothing to her but poor Lord Melbourne; yet to him she had remained the meaning of existence. He could still see her now and then, receive a letter from her – congratulations on his birthday, perhaps, but it was only on such occasions that she ever thought of him.
Life was wearying. His books were there. Sometimes he would sit fingering them, for the very touch gave him pleasure; but he would read a page and not know what he had read and he would hear himself murmur: ‘Oh, no, Ma’am, I couldn’t agree with that.’ In his mind he was seeing her, talking to her, thinking of her … always her.
There was greatness in her. He hoped Albert would not suppress it. ‘Damned morality,’ he growled. ‘Too much of it can strangle the mind. May she be preserved. Victoria the Queen …’
‘He must not overpower you, Ma’am. Oh, you adore him. You were always too ready to adore those you had affection for. You saw only black and white, good and bad, and nobody is entirely bad, no one entirely good, not even Albert.’